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Life is more complicated than she - or anyone else - had let on when I was young.
A sudden sparkle in her eyes warns me I need to tread carefully. “Who did you fight this time and why?” Despite the impatience and annoyance in her voice telling me that she has better things to do than deal with me, I can hear that she is far too interested in my answer.
There’s no way I can tell her the truth.
I can't tell her that I'd come face to face with my childhood rival, the same rival that told me he was glad my mother was dead and that she never loved me anyway. The same rival my recently ex-girlfriend had cheated on me with. The same rival who now thought it was funny to make snide comments about how she finally has a real man with a real job.
Of course, he’d acted like a punk when I said that only a certain kind of guy likes sloppy seconds. He’d squared up and I hit first as my past and present rage at him boiled up.
I glance away from Emma. She doesn't need to know that the rival who tried to outdo me in everything had finally bested me. I hit first, so he’s the victim, no matter how he’s treated me in the past. It doesn't matter that he tormented me relentlessly when I was young, or that he had never been anything but evil, or that he stole my ex-girlfriend, the only woman I've actually loved.
I know, I know. I understand the irony that no one can steal someone from someone else. She wanted to go, and she stepped out. That's on her.
But him luring her away and using her to swing at me - metaphorically - that's on him.
My cold night in lockup left me with one thought - the best revenge is moving on and finding my own happiness.
I’ll never let him influence me again. He’ll never have the power to make me angry again. I’m over my ex and I’m over all the shit he’s put me through since I was a kid.
Of course, there’s no way I’ll tell Emma any of my thoughts. Instead, I offer a simple cop-out answer.
“Some guy was being a jerk. He had it coming.” I say the words with a shrug even as pain lances through my heart.
She rolls her eyes like this is high school and I’m the parent saying something she doesn’t like. “That's not a good enough reason, Clifton. You need to learn to control your temper and your fists. You can't go around hitting people whenever you feel like it.” That scolding tone is back in her voice. “You're not a kid anymore. You're a grown man and it's time you act like one.”
“Are you telling me that or did my dad tell you to say those words?” They sound like something he’d say, and I glance at her to see no hint of amusement in her eyes or expression. She’s stone-cold and obviously mad. Good for her. Does she really not think I know better?
Her lips press into a tight line as she glances at an officer over her shoulder with a slight nod. He walks over and opens the door, letting me know this whole time she was playing a power move - keeping me locked up until the last moment.
She hands me some papers and aggressively clicks a pen. “Sign these. They’re your release forms.” As I lean in closer, her fruity perfume leaves my mouth watering. She smells like watermelon, banana, and kiwi on a warm summer day.
But any hint of softness is dashed when she speaks again. “You’re lucky the judge is lenient and agreed to let you off with a stiff warning and fines instead of jail time.”
As I scribble my name, she takes the papers, still lecturing me. “But don’t think you’re off the hook, mister. You have to stay out of trouble or I won’t be able to help you. Neither will your dad.” The finality in her voice leads me to believe that she and my father have discussed this at length.
I can barely get him to say two words to me, but he'll tell her anything; what he had for breakfast, how he likes his coffee, all of his passwords and where he keeps his unlocked, handwritten journal.
“Let's go.” I fall into step beside her and she glances up at me. “You have potential, Clifton. Don't waste it.” The hint of compassion and her words leads me to believe she might actually want me to succeed.
Either that or tired of listening to my father talk about having to bail me out.
Most likely the latter.
Chapter Two
Emma
I glance over at Clifton.
He’s slumped in the passenger seat of my car, staring out the window with a blank expression on his handsome face. The guy could be a movie star if he wanted. But it seems like all Clifton wants is to cause trouble and get in fights. I can’t help but wonder if it’s all a ploy to upset his dad, or to get attention.
I can’t imagine how tough his life must have been, growing up without a mother and with a father that, while a good guy with his best interests at heart, was emotionally chilly.
But the blank look on Clifton's face tells me he doesn't care about anything, not even the fact that he was just in jail, that I’d bailed him out, that he knows his dad is too mad to show up for him.
In truth, his dad has seemed a bit off lately, and has been leaving work more often on errands he schedules in advance. I have no doubts he’s up to something - maybe he’s met another woman and that’s why he’s coming down harder on his son.
“You’re staring at me.” He sounds grumpy. “Shouldn’t you focus on the road so you don’t kill us?”
